


Cancel, Continue

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Oliver, pining connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not in love with him,” Connor says. He isn’t. He can’t be. He and Oliver are friends. They are just friends who've made out now and nothing more. “I’m not.” Connor says again and isn’t sure if that second time was to convince Asher or himself.</p>
<p>Asher just leans back against the rail, letting his back stretch and curve down toward the ground. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>“What?” Connor asks dumbly, knowing full well what the answer will be.</p>
<p>“That they’ll never feel the same way.”</p>
<p>Connor opens his mouth, unsure what he’s going to say, when Oliver emerges from his room. It’s different seeing Oliver with bedhead when he knows that his fingers are the reason for the disarray. Oliver is down to just an undershirt because he was the one that tore off his sweater the night before. Oliver is waking with Connor all over him and, in that instant, he would give every fiber of his being for Oliver to look just like that every morning.</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Connor whispers to Asher. “It really sucks.”</p>
<p>+</p>
<p>A slow burn, Coliver College AU with a side of Team Bosher</p>
<p>+</p>
<p>Tags and summary may be updated as more chapters are added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr from the prompt: Prompt: Best friends and we drunkenly made out last night and it was awesome but this is also a problem because I’m in love with you.  
> Hope you enjoy,  
> -Jules xoxo

They’re out of milk again.

Connor lets the door of the fridge bang shut and reaches to put his bowl back in the cabinet. No milk, no need for a bowl. He snags the box of Raisin Bran off the counter and walks over to the sliding glass door, elbowing open the door as he munches on a handful of cereal. Leaving the door open to help blow the stale air out of the apartment, he leans over the rail of the balcony and looks out over their sleepy block as the sun rises on Sunday morning. He raises a hand in greeting when he sees Asher strolling down the block.

“Stride of pride, baby!” Asher calls out and starts dirty dancing down the block. When Connor boos and throws pieces of cereal down at him, Asher simply smiles and dances even filthier. “Oh yeah. Make it rain.”

“Just get up here,” Connor chastises down in a tone mindful of sleeping neighbors. And sleeping guests.

Asher grins and, with a wink, jogs up their building steps. Moments later, he’s entering the apartment and, with a glance to Connor’s closed door, catches the door just before it slams shut. He joins Connor on the balcony and steals the cereal box. Around a handful, he asks Connor in a teasing tone, “Do we have company?”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Oliver.”

Asher visibly deflates. “Aw man. What about that guy with the hair?” He mimics brushing back shoulder length locks. “You two were looking pretty chummy before I left.”

“Where’d you go, anyway?” Connor asks. Anything to avoid talking about his own train wreck of a night. “Looked for you before we left but you disappeared. Tried texting.”

“Oh, yeah.” Asher shoves more dry cereal in his mouth and looks down the block, waving at two of their neighbors walking up. Connor gets the sense that he isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to talk about his night. “Bonnie, she—” Asher trails off but Connor nods in simple understanding as he takes back the cereal box. No explanation needed.

Connor has Oliver and Asher has Bonnie.

After a moment of silence, munching on cereal, Asher says, “She got into Michigan.” He nods and picks at the peeling paint of the rail. “Post doc fellowship. Three years. Semi-full ride.”

“Wow.” Connor’s stunned. “That’s—that’s awesome. Go her. Go Bonnie. It’s—”

“Far,” Asher bites off. He rips off a strip of paint and tosses it over the edge. “It’s fucking far.” He turns around to lean back against the rail, crossing his arms and ankles. “I mean—I’m happy for her. I’m so fucking—she deserves it. It’s so fucking awesome. The program is gonna be killer and it’s what she’s always wanted to do. It’s so great. But—” He trails off and runs a hand through his hair. “But I’m an asshole because the entire time she’s telling me all this, all I can think is ‘You can’t go. What about me? What about us?’ But, of course, there is no ‘us.’” He all but spits out the word. “We aren’t anything. I know that. I’m not stupid. I’m just her undergrad toy when one of her _actual_ possibilities is busy or flakes out or is boring. I know we aren’t anything at all. But—Jesus—when she goes—” Asher turns away to look down their block again and Connor pretends he doesn’t see the sheen of tears in his eyes.

They’re silent for a while. Connor slowly chews the stale cereal and Asher resumes picking off the paint.

“ _He_ called,” Connor says. At Asher’s questioning look, Connor clarifies. “You asked what happened with me and hair guy. Everything was going great. He seemed cool. We were—having fun.” Connor rolls his eyes as he says it to make Asher laugh a little, which he does obligingly. “It was all good. Then Oliver called,” Connor says, gesturing with the cereal box back into the apartment. “His date—I don’t know—his date bailed or ended early or whatever, doesn’t matter. He called and came out and I bailed on hair guy. That was that.”

“So, what’d you kids do?” Asher asks innocently.

Connor thinks back to his mouth running down the cord of Oliver’s neck to lightly nip at the collarbone he’s long fantasied about. Oliver’s breath panting in his ear as he pressed hot kisses to Connor’s temple and forehead before knotting his hands in Connor’s hair and pulling Connor’s mouth to his. Connor’s hand at the small of Oliver’s back slowly running up to rest between Oliver’s shoulder blades, pressing them together. Oliver’s nails lightly raking down Connor’s sides, trailing down to grip his hips and pull them closer still. The husky sound of Oliver’s voice as it trembled over his name. The freedom he felt at finally being able to say Oliver’s name with the reverence it deserves.

He thinks back to this morning. Of lying, still and silent, next to Oliver for as long as he dared. Memorizing the feel of Oliver stretched out next to him and the weight of his arm thrown over Connor’s chest. Turning his head a little to be able to watch the small rise and fall of Oliver’s chest with each breath and rest their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he matched his breath with Oliver’s. Of looking in the mirror this morning, after forcing himself out of bed, and noticing a small mark near the v of his neck. The mark isn’t anything really; something that will fade quickly. Easy to cover up and ignore. Still, he presses into it until it hurts and then just a little more after that. He doesn’t want it to fade and be forgotten. He doesn’t want to have to sneak out of bed next to Oliver for fear that Oliver will awake and catch him. Connor doesn’t want what happened last night to be quickly dismissed as a stupid mistake. He wants it to linger and sustain.

Connor doesn’t want to tell Asher any of this. He can’t tell Asher any of this. So, noticing the pointed look Asher’s giving him, he makes a show of shrugging and tries for nonchalant. “Had a few drinks at the bar. Came back. Had a few more here. Passed out. Nothing major.”

“He passed out in your room?”

“We both did.” As he hears himself say it, Connor curses. What is the matter with him?

Asher grins like a cat. “You both passed out in your room.”

“I—we—that couch is a piece of shit. Wasn’t gonna make him sleep there and I wasn’t risking my spine.” Connor shrugs himself and feels the insincerity just pouring off. Avoiding the look in Asher’s eyes, Connor digs some crumbs out of the almost empty box. “He’s my best friend. What was I supposed to do?”

“Graduation’s in less that three months. Cut the crap,” Asher says. “ _I’m_ your best friend. That guy in there, you love him. You’re in love with him.”

“Fuck off. I’m not in love with him.” He isn’t. He can’t be. They are friends. They are just friends who make out now and nothing more. Anything more would break him. “I’m not.” Connor says again and isn’t sure if that second time was to convince Asher or himself.

Asher just leans back against the rail, letting his back stretch and curve down toward the ground. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“What?” Connor asks dumbly, knowing full well what the answer will be.

“That they’ll never feel the same way.”

Connor opens his mouth, unsure what he’s going to say, when Oliver emerges from his room and he swallows back a whine.

Connor has seen Oliver the morning after dozens of times, after late nights studying or partying or whatever when their dorms were down the hall, but it’s never affected him like this. It’s different seeing Oliver with bedhead when he knows that _his_ fingers are the reason for the disarray. Oliver is down to just an undershirt because he was the one that tore off his sweater the night before. The belt is off his jeans because Connor took it off last night before Oliver laced their fingers together and whispered “Not yet” against Connor’s neck. Oliver is coming out of his room, after spending the night in his bed, slipping one of his sweatshirts over his head. Oliver is waking with Connor all over him and, in that instant, he would give every fiber of his being for Oliver to look just like that every morning.

“You’re right,” Connor whispers to Asher before Oliver joins them on the balcony. “It really sucks.”


	2. Chapter 2

Oliver can feel the warm sunlight dancing across his eyelids but he turns his face away, burying it deeper in the pillow, blocking out both the light and the morning it brings. He can feel a restlessness stirring in his arms and legs, the need to stretch inactive muscles, but does his best to ignore both. Keeping his eyes firmly closed and clinging desperately to sleep, Oliver’s not ready to let this night’s dream go just yet.

He’s having one of the _good_ ones. He’s trailing light fingertips over the breadth of a chest, running a hand down the smooth line of a thigh, biting at the pulse point of a neck while circling fingers over a hardening length. The body is faceless, head constantly turning away from Oliver’s seeking lips, but it doesn’t matter. Oliver knows those hands, those arms, the line of that back; he’s well familiar with that body and the glorious man it belongs to.

The face of the dream man turns and there he is.

Connor. It’s always Connor.

Oliver lets Connor’s face come into focus, mouth smiling a tad too wide and laughter sparkling in those eyes Oliver adores, and allows himself to remain in the haze between sleep and wakefulness for just a moment. Just a moment of Connor beaming at him, looking at him with love and adoration, looking at Oliver like they actually _mean_ something to each other, before opening his eyes and accepting the morning. Because, in Oliver’s opinion, it’s one thing to have the occasional inappropriate dream about your best friend, to company of course, the horribly overgrown crush you have on him, it’s quite another to actively think about kissing the bolt of Connor’s jaw or remaining in a dream that would make looking Connor in the eyes difficult.

Oliver lies there, letting his eyes adjust to the light, and wonders why waking this morning feels different. It’s not just coming down off the high of a dream in which he is loved and free to love in return only to wake up alone and wanting in cool sheets, a feeling he has more than a passing familiarity with. There is something else odd about this morning. It isn’t the feeling of hoping someone is next to him when he wakes; it’s that he expected someone to be there when he woke. He would have sworn he slept last night with someone stretched out beside him, with an arm thrown over a chest and his nose tucked into curls at the back of a neck.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Oliver tries to think, remember all that happened last night, but he keeps flashing back to the dream of Connor. But the flashes don’t feel like dreams to him; they feel like memory. The taste on Connor’s lips is sour and stale from cheap beer and bummed cigarettes. Oliver can feel the coarse hair on Connor’s chest and the hand he holds is almost clammy. They bump foreheads and knock teeth. Oliver’s fingers stumble over the buttons of Connor’s shirt and Connor can’t get the grip he needs to get off Oliver’s belt. It’s not as smooth and seamless and perfect as his dreams normally are. It’s awkward and embarrassing and _real_.

Oliver bolts up in bed, looking around frantically with eyes still blind. This is Connor’s room. That blurred shape over there is Connor’s desk and that mass next to it is Connor’s laundry and that is Connor’s window and Connor’s closet and Connor’s dresser. Oh my god. This. Is. Connor’s. Room.

Last night was real. That wasn’t a dream.

He’s in Connor’s bed. He slept curled around Connor last night. He and Connor made out last night. None of it was a dream.

He flings a hand to the bedside table and feels around for his glasses, knocking down a phone and book in the process. Slipping his glasses on, he takes in the room again. He’s been in this room hundreds of times before. He’s worked at that desk and sat, right there, on the floor near the closet to read. He’s sat at the foot of this bed while he and Connor talked about their post-college plans and future and dreams. He’s picked through that closet, like it was an extension of his own, looking for clothes he’s sure Connor has borrowed or something to wear for a night out. Nothing in the room is new, and yet, he’s never seen any of it from this angle, laying on the bed, and the entire room looks new.

Oliver lies back down and, with hands flat on his chest, presses himself deeper into the bedclothes. He breathes in, long and deep, scents of cotton and fading fabric softener and Connor. Turning his head to glance at the alarm clock, he gives himself three minutes. Three minutes to soak in this feeling of waking up in Connor’s bed. Three minutes to remember all he can from last night. Three minutes to pretend that he is loved in return.

+

Three minutes stretch to five before Oliver forces himself up. Reaching into Connor’s closet to pull out a sweatshirt, he makes his way out of the room in search of Connor while debating what he should say and how to broach the topic of last night.

Should he walk up to Connor and kiss him? Is it better to pretend that nothing happened? What if Connor decides to pretend that nothing happened? They had been drinking, he could say he was drunk even though neither of them really had been. What if Connor thinks it was a mistake? What if it ruins their friendship?

Spotting Connor and Asher on their balcony, Oliver gives a little wave through the glass and makes his way over. “Morning,” he greets as he steps out onto the balcony and into the sun.

“Morning,” Connor says through a mouthful of cereal and he looks down to shake the box before reaching in to fish out more.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Asher teases with a grin. “And how was your night last night?”

Oliver opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He quickly glances to Connor, who is still absorbed in his cereal box. How was his night last night? _Fantastic. Amazing. More than he ever hoped for._ He isn’t telling Asher of all people any of that though. “Good. It was good. Yours?”

Asher hesitates a little and Oliver doesn’t feel like he’s getting the full story when Asher responds with “Good”, but Asher has always been more of Connor’s friend than Oliver’s so he doesn’t think it’s his place to pry.

The three of them stand in semi-awkward silence for a moment. Asher picking paint off their railing, Connor still digging cereal out of the box, and Oliver wishing he could kiss that cereal crumb off the corner of Connor’s mouth. Eventually, Asher’s the one to break it.

“Well,” he says as he throws the last piece of paint off the side. “I’m gonna shower. You kids behave yourselves.” He pats Oliver on the back as he shifts past to go through the door and Connor flips him off when Asher shoots a wink in his direction.

Then it’s down to just the two of them as Oliver moves to lean against the railing in Asher’s place. The silence between them grows and Oliver has never wished for Asher to come back more in his life.

“Listen—”

“About last night—”

Oliver smiles a little and waves a hand. “You go first.”

“Thanks.” Connor coughs. “I—it’s just—” He coughs again. He’s already decided that he’s going to play off last night like it was no big deal. Just because it was everything he’s ever wanted doesn’t mean Oliver feels the same. There’s no use in losing the best friend he’s ever had because he couldn’t control himself for one night. “I guess I just wanted to say that I’m glad we didn’t do anything too crazy last night.”

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees quietly, a little stunned. What is he supposed to say to that? Connor is okay with what they did last night but anything more would be crazy? Oliver swallows down the sour taste in his mouth. “Yeah. It’s—it’s good we didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Right.” Connor nods and then keeps nodding. So Oliver thinks that them being together is stupid. Awesome. “Just too many shots, I guess.”

“Sure,” Oliver says. “Too many shots.”

But it wasn’t too many shots. They’d had a round, maybe two, at the bar early in the night and, when they’d left, neither of them had been in a state to drive so they grabbed a cab back to Connor’s apartment. The cab ride across campus, with the windows down and the cool early spring air flowing in, had sobered Oliver up. Not a lot, of course, but enough so that, once they were upstairs in Connor’s apartment, when Connor had reached over to pull Oliver in, he’d gone willingly. The buzz of the alcohol giving him the boost of confidence he needed without clouding his judgment.

Had it been too many shots for Connor? More than thinking them being together was crazy, did Connor also regret what they’d done? On top of how messed up everything felt like right now, had Oliver taken advantage of Connor? Oh god.

Oliver opens his mouth, unsure how to even begin wording the question he wants to ask, knows he needs to ask. Guilt and disgust with himself and trepidation all whirling through his system. He’s afraid he’s going to be sick when Connor speaks up.

“Well, not _too_ many. At least for me—was it for you?” Connor’s beautiful eyes are filled with question, regret, and a little bit of fear and Oliver knows Connor is going through the same internal conflict that he’d unwittingly taken things too far, so Oliver is quick to shake his head.

“No,” Oliver says. “It wasn’t too many. I guess—I guess we just weren’t thinking.”

Connor nods. “Yeah. Just—I don’t know—stress of graduation coming up or something.”

“That sounds about right,” Oliver agrees and they fall into silence again.

This silence isn’t as awkward as the one between them moments earlier but neither is it as comfortable as their silences normally are. Their friendship had always been that they never really felt a pressing need to fill the gaps in conversation. Both were entirely comfortable letting the quiet stretch between them as they studied or walked to class or shared a meal. It’s never felt as strained and heavy as this, and Oliver knows that something has changed between them. No matter how hard they both try to deny, their friendship from before has shifted and they are both stuck firmly in the after.

Connor offers up the cereal box to Oliver who shakes his head. “Actually—” Oliver begins.

“You want to grab breakfast?” Connor quickly asks. He can tell Oliver’s gearing up to head home and Connor’s not ready for Oliver to leave just yet. If he’s being really honest, he’s never actually ready for Oliver to leave but this morning is different. There is still too much hanging between them, too much unsaid that can never be given voice. Connor needs them to get back on better footing before he or Oliver are left alone with their thoughts and things have potential to get even worse. “I’d offer to make something but it was Asher’s turn to go to the store so—” He ends with a shrug and Oliver chuckles in understanding.

“Yeah,” Oliver says after a moment of internal debate. “Breakfast would be good.”

“Really?” Connor asks. Oliver nods. “Okay, great. Let me just, change and stuff. You want to head to the diner off 5th?”

Oliver nods again. “Sure. Works for me.”

He steps aside to let Connor pass to go back inside, takes a deep breath of fresh air, and surveys Connor’s block waking up on the early spring morning.

It’s going to be okay, he assures himself. They’re still speaking to each other and are still friends. So what if Connor doesn’t want them to be anything more than that. He has last night and that’s enough. For now, at least, that has to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

“Who do you keep looking for?”

Connor whips his head back around to his sister, who looks both curious and bored. Their parents had run back to the car for the digital camera, leaving Gemma and Connor waiting together under the shade of an oak on the quad. Fellow graduates in bright blue, polyester robes are beginning to mill around with their families and Connor glances at his watch. In a few minutes, he’s going to have to leave Gemma alone to wait while he goes to get in line with the others.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connor tells her dismissively, even as he does another sweep of the crowd.

“Bullshit.” Gemma rests a hand on Connor’s shoulder for balance as she reaches down with the other to fix a strap on her sandal. “You’re looking for someone. Tell me who.” Standing straight again, she tugs down the line of her dress flat and then teases him, “Is it a boy?”

Connor rolls his eyes and reaches over to tuck one of her curls back behind her ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“It’s totally a boy.” She links her arm with his and looks out into the crown. “Who am I looking for? Tall, short? Light, dark?”

Connor groans. “You are a child.”

Gemma just smiles prettily. It’s fun to still be able to tease him. “Tell me who it is or I’m going to tell Mom you were looking for a boy?”

“You wouldn’t.”

She tilts her head with a calculating smile. “Try me.”

“Fine, it’s Oliver,” Connor explains. “I’m looking for Oliver.”

Gemma gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes and drops Connor’s arm. “Oliver isn’t a boy.”

Connor thinks of his body pressed against Oliver’s. Hip-to-hip. Length-to-length. “I assure you Oliver is most definitely a boy.”

“Well, I know that.” Gemma swats him lightly on the arm in the way older sisters do. “He’s just not a _boy_ boy.”

“He might be,” Connor whispers under his breath but it’s still loud enough for Gemma to hear and he wonders, for the thousandth time that week, what is the matter with him.

He can’t tell if speaking up was by accident or design or perhaps a bit of both. These past few months, he’s been desperate for someone to talk to. Asher had proven to be no help and all and Oliver was out for obvious reasons. But now, twenty minutes before he’s set to walk across a stage and graduate, isn’t really the best time for a heart-to-heart with his sister.

“What?” Gemma questions and Connor doesn’t know if he’s thankful or horrified that Gemma picked up what he said. When he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to look out over the sea of graduates and their families, Gemma takes matters into her own hands and stands in his line of sight. “Connor? What is it?”

“It’s…” He trails off, looking down to pick at his nails since his sister is blocking his view. “It’s just…”

It’s just that I think I’m in love with my best friend. I mean, I’ve always loved him but now I’m pretty sure I _love him_ love him. I’m afraid it’s always been him and I was too blind to notice.

It’s like we were some terrible cliché of true love meeting the first day of college at freshman orientation and it just felt so natural that neither of us questioned it. Neither of us took notice to the meaningful looks and lingering silences. How we always seemed to walk close enough for the backs of our hands to brush against each other. How every single time we went out it was always our eyes that met across the crowded room. How we each found fault with every perfectly decent man we dated. How I always wondered what it would be like.

And now—I mean—I could live with it before. Before when there was always an armrest or a cushion or a table between us. Before when the closest we ever got were fingers brushing or eyes meeting. Before when it was all just something to wonder about as I walked to class.

But _now_ —now that I know what he tastes like. I know what his lips feel like against mine. I know how it feels when his pulse quickens in his neck. I’ve trailed fingertips down his back and lips up his chest. I’ve felt his breath warm against my temple and the burn of his stubble against my chin. I know how complete it feels to wake up next to him. How whole I am when it’s just the two of us together at the break of a day.

I know now exactly what it would be like. I know how well we fit and yet I still fucked it up. Was still doubtful and cowardly. Afraid of wanting too much, needing too much, loving too much.

So instead of clinging, I brushed it aside. Brushed him aside. I tore it all down, dismissing it as a drunken mistake. Ignoring it as if it meant nothing when I’m pretty sure not that it means everything. Everything I am. Everything I could ever hope to be.

We tried to go back. We tried to just be friends again but—but it just isn’t the same. It could never be the same.

It’s like last fall when they replaced the carpets upstairs and Mom had to take everything out of my room. When it was finished, she put it all back, just where she thought it had gone. The room looked the same but then I kept bumping into things when I came back on break. Everything had shifted a millimeter to the right or a hair’s breadth to the left. It was all the same and yet irrevocably changed.

That’s how it is between us now. Everything of our relationship is still there. All the pieces are in the room but it’s all shifted. The cadence of conversation is off. The silences seem louder than they ever were. We stand too close but also too far. There is too much said but it’s nothing of substance. I’m afraid to reach out to touch because I don’t know if I trust myself to let go again.

Then, three weeks ago, he told me he’s leaving.

I knew he was, of course. I knew he was moving back home with his parents – we all were, me, Asher, Oliver – but then, in the middle of the library, he tells me he’s moving away.

I was sitting there thinking about how much I wanted to hook my foot around the leg of his chair to drag him just a bit closer. Nothing nefarious, nothing naughty in mind. I just wanted him closer. How fucking stupid is it that after four years I was starting to realize that I always want him closer? But instead he told me he’s leaving.

He’s going to California. He got a job with a tech firm from one of those job fairs he dragged me to earlier in the semester. They’re paying his moving expenses. He’s going to get health insurance and pay off loans and sign a lease. He wants to get a dog. Oliver is going to be a man. He’s growing up and preparing to move on and I’m moving back in with Mom and Dad into the room above the laundry room. I’ll be able to hear the chime of the washer again when Mom does laundry at four in the morning. I’m going to have to go back to letting Mom and Dad know when I’m not going to be home for dinner and rearranging cars in the driveway the night before so they can both get out for work the next day and hiding my porn and—and Oliver’s getting a dog.

I love him.

I love him so much the thought of not being able to see him whenever, of not being able to call and he’ll come, of not even having the option of reaching out for him across the way, it paralyzes me. This week, I’ve found myself standing in the middle of my room, staring off into nothing, unable to think of anything except that he’s going thousands of miles away and I’m standing still, watching mutely as he goes.

I love him, Gemma. I love Oliver.

“Connor?” Gemma’s gentle question pulls him out of reverie. “Are you okay?”

“No. No, yeah, it’s—” Connor begins again in a rush. “I’m fine. It’s just—”

“There you two are!” His mother’s voice interrupts and he and Gemma jump a little, turning to watch their parents heading over.

“Found it!” his mother exclaims, brandishing the camera. “Dug through both our suitcases before I remembered it was in the glove box.” Turning to Connor, “Honey, don’t you have to go line up with the others? It’s almost time.”

“I—” he tries to explain but everything he’s let go unsaid for so long chokes him. “I—”

“You go.” His mother says even as she’s already on to the next, handing the camera to his father and opening up her purse to rifle through it. “We’ve got to get seats. I don’t want a repeat of Gemma’s graduation with that tall man blocking our view. Honey, did I give the tickets to you?” She turns to her husband, who dutifully starts looking in his pockets, pulling out his wallet. Gemma even looks through her purse lest she be accused of not helping to look.

“Connor, honey, go on.” His mom brushes him off with the wave of her hand. “You don’t want to be late.”

With a quick round of ‘love you’s and last minute ‘good lucks’, Connor heads off to join his fellow graduates for the procession. He runs a nervous hand through his hair and tugs at the knot in his tie. His clothes feel too tight all of a sudden. His stomach turns in knots. As he walks, he focuses on taking deep breaths. All the while, scanning the crowd for Oliver’s familiar form.

+

Oliver fiddles with his diploma cover as he looks out over the crowd. A line of sweat runs down his back under the layers of cotton while he pretends to look for his family but really looks for Connor. He had tried to hunt Connor down before the ceremony to no avail and by this point Oliver’s more than a little frantic to find him.

They had been missing each other all week. Texting back and forth about grabbing lunch or going on a run; trying to make plans that just never materialized. Oliver needs to talk to him. They haven’t really talked in weeks. They haven’t said goodbye. There is so much left unsaid between them. Too much. The weight of all those words never spoken is like a weight on his chest, slowly suffocating him. Oliver doesn’t want their goodbye to be a quick hug on the quad and posing for pictures before they each go off to their family celebrations. They need to make a plan to talk. Oliver needs to goodbye.

“Found you!” His brother bounds over and pulls Oliver in for a fierce hug. “Congrats, little brother.” He slings an arm around Oliver’s shoulder to lean on him and waves down their mom. “Now, we all had our doubts about you making it through but today—”

Oliver elbows him hard in the side, just like his brother expected him too, and then stoops down to hug their mother as she rushes up. Her eyes still a little red from crying and the hug lingers.

“Oh, my boy.” She kisses Oliver and pulls back to look at him with awe. How did that tiny, precious baby she birthed all those years ago turn into this man? “My sweet boy. So proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“What about me?” his brother jokes in the way older brothers do. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

“You had your day. Today is Oliver’s day.” She pulls Oliver in for another hug and points her oldest a look over Oliver’s shoulder. It’s one of those looks that always worked when he was younger and when her oldest stands up a little straighter and she smiles to herself. They both think they’re so grown up but they’re still her boys.

Pulling back, she pats down a bit of Oliver’s hair that was mussed by the graduation cap. “Are you ready for dinner?”

“Yeah. It’s—” Oliver does another frantic sweep of the crowd. There’s too many graduates in blue polyester standing with families. They all are starting to look alike and he doesn’t see Connor anywhere.

His mother and brother both notice. “You are you looking for?” his brother asks, scanning the crowd even though he has no idea who Oliver’s trying to find.

“Just—just a friend.”

“There will be plenty of time for friends after dinner,” his mother explains. She hooks her arm through Oliver’s and starts tugging him away. “We have a reservation.”

“I know. But Mom—” Oliver cranes to look over one shoulder and then the other but still allows her to lead him away.

“Oliver.” She squeezes his arm and waits for him to look at her. “There is always time.”

+

“I thought I might find you here.”

At the voice and the slow steps echoing off the stone patio, Connor glances up to watch Oliver join him on the steps of the auditorium. He spreads out, propping his elbows up to lean back at look up at the inky night sky.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Oliver says, his tone more conversational than accusatory.

“Yeah. It died,” Connor lies. He really turned it off when he found himself staring at it too much, wanting too much to reach out and too afraid it wouldn't be welcome. The phone is sitting like a stone in his pocket and he feels like an ass when Oliver simply nods in understanding.

It’s quiet between them and Connor is overwhelmed with the desire to slide over and rest his head right there on Oliver’s shoulder, link his arms around Oliver’s waist, and just breathe. He turns away when the want gets too strong and he feels himself giving in.

This is getting ridiculous. Oliver’s not dying; he’s just moving away. This isn’t the end of their friendship. They’ll still talk and text and Connor will figure out how Skype works. It will be fine. It’s all going to continue. This isn’t the end. Why does it feel like it though? Why does everything feel like it’s spinning out of control?

“Do you remember when we met?”

Oliver’s question startles him and Connor isn’t sure he heard right. “What?”

“When we met.” Oliver looks down from the stars to smile at him. “Do you remember when we met?”

“Right over there. Freshman orientation.” Connor points over to the left side of the stairs, almost offended that Oliver doesn’t think he remembered.

All the freshmen from their dorm had walked down to the auditorium together and they had ended up next to each other in the massive crowd milling about before the RAs ushered them all inside. They sat next to each other during the presentation and were side-by-side on the walk back. Not a word between them the entire time, naturally comfortable with the silence. They didn’t even exchange names until they were back on their floor. Connor had held out his hand to shake and it was the first time he saw Oliver’s shy smile. The first time that smile took his breath away. He should have known then and there that this boy was going to ruin him.

Now, Connor glances over to catch a glimpse of that beautiful smile again but this one's different. It's turned up at the sides almost smirking, like Oliver is holding back a secret. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just—” Oliver sits up so they’re shoulder to shoulder. “It’s just that’s not the first time we met.”

“What? What are you talking about? Of course that’s the first time we met.”

Oliver just shakes his head. “No. We met during move in.”

Connor tilts his head, remembering. They hadn’t met during move in. “No. That’s not right.”

“Yes it is,” Oliver insists. “It was quick. You and your dad were carrying up—I don’t know—your TV or something. And we passed each other on the stairs and you winked at me.”

“I did?”

Oliver nods. “Yeah. And then—” He looks down at his hands; his cheeks reddening with the memory. “And then you said ‘At least there’s gonna be one hot guy in this dorm?’”

“Really?” Connor asks - it does sound like something he would have done - and chuckles when Oliver nods. “No shit.” He leans back on his elbows. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“I was so nervous at orientation and on the walk back.” Oliver leans back too; tilting his head toward Connor’s. “I kept trying to come up with things to say but chickened out. You were so handsome.”

“Was?” Connor cocks an eyebrow and gives Oliver a look, mostly because they both expect it of him.

“Are.” Oliver concedes and they share a smile.

They’re quiet as they watch the stars and, for the first time in months, it’s comfortable again. Everything is relining itself back to normal.

“I don’t know if I would have made it through without you,” Connor whispers, keeping his eyes trained on the sky above.

“That’s not true,” Oliver insists but Connor just shakes his head.

“Sophomore year. All that shit with my dad and too much partying and not going to class.” Connor blows out a breath and can almost see it as the night gets cools around them. “At the very least, I would have failed out without you.”

“You would have been fine,” Oliver tries again but again Connor shakes his head.

“I was lost.” He looks over and his gaze is clear and steady as he holds Oliver’s. “I was lost and you found me. No one else has ever done that.”

“Con—” Oliver’s voice is a broken whisper and he reaches to grip Connor’s hand tight in his.

They fall silent again and this time it’s bittersweet. This is goodbye.

“Promise me something,” Connor says with sudden urgency.

“Anything.”

“Promise me we won’t become just Facebook friends.” Connor sits back up again and turns to face Oliver, never loosening his hold on Oliver’s hand. “Promise me we’ll still talk and—and I don’t know—Facetime or whatever. We’ll still text during the day and I’ll be your bail call on bad dates. And we can call and marathon Netflix together. And—”

“Connor. Don’t worry.” Oliver sits up too and squeezes Connor’s hand between both of his. “We will still be friends.”

“I know—but—but you’re leaving and I just—” When his voice breaks, Connor isn’t even the least bit ashamed. Not with Oliver. Not about this. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t. You couldn’t.” Oliver pulls him in and Connor’s fingers curl into the cotton of Oliver’s dress shirt. “You’ll never lose me. I found you remember?”

Connor rolls his eyes even as tucks into Oliver’s neck. “Not funny.”

“I wasn’t kidding.” His arms around Connor tighten. “We aren’t losing each other. I’m not letting you go.”

They stay wrapped up in each other long enough for the cool of night to chill fingertips and noses. An owl hoots in the distance and a joyful cheer of celebrating graduates breaks the silence but they still cling.

“You could come with if you want,” Oliver slowly says.

Connor scoffs as he pulls out of Oliver’s embrace. “Be serious. I’m the last thing you need out there.” He rubs a hand over his eyes and through his hair. “Eating all your food. Crashing on your couch. Holding you back from everything. I’m going to be enough of a burden for my parents. I don’t want to be one for you too.”

“No. It wouldn’t be like that at all,” Oliver insists. “You could get a job. It’d be a new place, new city.”

Connor shakes his head. “No. It wouldn’t—”

“And besides,” Oliver rushes on. “I wasn’t asking like that. I—I meant—” He grabs Connor’s hand, interlocking their fingers and sweeping a thumb over the back of Connor’s hand.

The breath catches in the back of Oliver’s throat and he momentarily curses himself. What is he doing? What is he thinking? Slightly tearful goodbye hugs can be excused as sentiment given the situation; holding hands and linking fingers are too intimate of steps to be ignored.

Oliver glances up to catch the stunned expression on Connor’s face and realizes this why he’s been anxious all week. This is why he’s been so desperate that they talk. He never had any intention of leaving without doing this.

“I wasn’t asking you to come as my friend. I mean—you are my friend but I meant you could come with me and we could—we could be together.” He risks another glance up but Connor’s expression has gone flat, stoic, not giving anything away. “That night all those weeks ago—the night we—”

“I remember the night.” Connor’s tone is flat too and, for the first time he can recall, Oliver can’t read it. He has no idea what Connor is thinking and that makes him more nervous than anything he’s trying to say.

“Yeah. That night.” Oliver rubs a hand over the back of his neck and presses on. He’s come this far; he needs to see it through. “That night was best night that I’ve ever had. I didn’t think—I don’t think it was a mistake or I drank too much or—or anything like that. It was more than I’d ever hoped for actually. I know you had regrets about it—”

“No I didn’t,” Connor says.

Oliver’s gaze whips up. “You didn’t? But I thought—”

“I regret what I said that morning. I regret dismissing it,” Connor explains slowly. His eyes drop to Oliver’s lips and he licks his own. “But that night. That night I finally got to kiss you. What could I possibly regret about that?”

Oliver shakes his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. “But, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Connor says defensively. He picks up Oliver’s other hand, linking their fingers again, and gently knocks their joined fists against each other in the space between them.

“Okay so maybe I have been avoiding you a little,” Connor concedes after a beat. “Before that night, I thought I had everything figured out. I thought I understood how I felt about you.”

“I thought I did too.” Oliver tries to smile, insert a bit of levity into the moment, but it comes out wobbly. “I thought I had a handle on it – that I could keep it contained – but I can’t. It’s—it’s too big. Too much.”

“It’s everything,” Connor whispers and Oliver nods in blessed understanding.

Connor tugs on Oliver’s hands to pull him forward and they rest their foreheads together. Connor presses his eyes shut and works to memorize everything about this moment. The way Oliver’s hands grip his. How their mingled breaths are warm against his lips. How the cool the stone is under his thigh.

“Don’t make me say goodbye to you.” Connor’s voice breaks and he clutches Oliver’s hands tighter.

Oliver presses his forehead harder against Connor’s, the pressure soothing. “Come with me,” he repeats.

Connor scoffs and leans back again. “Be serious.”

“I am.”

Connor shakes his head and turns to look out onto the quad. Oliver doesn’t understand anything. “You want to go right from declaring ourselves to moving in together. Seems a little irresponsible, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Come on, Oliver.”

But Oliver’s undeterred. “Being responsible, not doing what I really want to, has led to this. Telling you I love you the night of graduation, the night before you’re moving back home and days before I’m moving across the country. I’m done being responsible.

“But you’re right. It is sudden, fast.” Oliver lets out a heavy sigh. “And it’s more than a little selfish of me to spring this on you like this. It’s just—” His gaze wanders from the stars to the expanse of the quad and then back to Connor. “I’m so excited about this. The job sounds great and the apartment they helped me get looks awesome. I’m getting a company car and business cards and I’m sharing a cubical.” Oliver’s eyes drop to their joined hands. “But the thing is, I’m really scared. My family’s all out here. All my friends. _You_. How can I leave you? I’m not going to know anyone. What if I don’t get along with the people I work with? What if I don’t make any friends? What if I end up alone in this strange city with no one to talk to and—” He breaks off on a choked sob.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Connor cups Oliver’s cheeks and leans in for a quick kiss that is more a gesture of friendship than one of love. “It’s going to be great. You’re going to be amazing. You’re going to meet so many people, Oliver. And the job is going to be awesome and don’t worry about your coworkers liking you. Everyone likes you. You’re Oliver.”

Oliver just shakes his head in defeat but willingly goes when Connor pulls him in. Wrapping his arms around Connor, he nuzzles into Connor’s neck to breathe in while Connor runs a hand down his back. The night is quiet and cool around them as they make one silhouette in the moonlight.

“I didn’t ask you to come because I’m scared.” Oliver’s voice is muffled by Connor’s dress shirt.

“I know.” Connor kisses his temple and the hand running down Oliver’s back slows.

“And—” Oliver shifts to rest his head on Connor’s shoulder. “If you did decide to come, I don’t think it would be too fast. I mean, it’s not like we’re strangers. We’ve known each other for four years.”

“Four years of foreplay?” Connor jokes.

“No.” Oliver presses himself up harder against Connor. “Foundation. Four years of foundation.”

Connor’s throat closes at that and he swallows down a sting of tears. Now that he finally has this, finally has Oliver so close, can he really say goodbye?

“I love you,” Connor whispers it first into the night before turning to look Oliver in the eye. “I love you, Oliver.”

Oliver’s smile wavers as he holds back the rush of emotion. “I love you, too.”

Their kiss starts soft but quickly turns desperate, frantic, too much teeth, too little finesse, but neither care. Connor licks into Oliver’s mouth, chasing a moan. Oliver’s nails claw at Connor’s shirt, eager to feel the warm skin beneath. Connor pulls Oliver ever closer, the harsh cut of the stone steps digging into his back. Oliver finds that spot under Connor’s ear he remembers from that night long ago and is rewarded with a filthy groan.

When it gets to be too much, too fast, they both slow down again. Gentle kisses to cheeks and eyes and foreheads. ‘I love you’s whispered into the hollows of throats and under ears. Reverent hands held tight and close between them.

“Hey Connor.” Oliver pulls back and smiles when Connor tries to follow. He turns his head but Connor seems just as content dotting kisses along Oliver’s cheek.

“Hmm.” Connor moves on to nuzzle under Oliver’s ear and gives a huff of annoyance when Oliver gently tugs his hair so they’re eye-to-eye.

“Come with me,” Oliver whispers, lifting Connor’s hand as he does to kiss the palm. “Be with me.”

The night is silent between them as Connor thinks, mind whirling with a thousand different things but the only thing he can focus on his Oliver smiling at him. Connor whispers the single word as a matching smile spreads beautifully across his face. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves!  
> I am very sorry to all of you for making you wait so long for this concluding part. I knew it would take a while but I never thought it would be this long. Thank you so much to those who stuck it out. You are amazing!! And I hope you enjoyed. Thank you thank you!! <3  
> -Jules xoxo
> 
>  
> 
> [x](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)


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